The Waxing Moon
by J.J.M. Fisher
Summary: Colette Moon, a young journalist, arrives in the small town of Lachlan, Scotland, to investigate the rumors of a werewolf and finds herself trapped in the middle of a sinister plot. Has her whole life been a lie?
1. Chapter 1: The Owl Nest Inn

**Setting:** This story takes place in a fictious town in Scotland.

**Disclaimer: **This tale does occur in the universe of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, but none of the characters from the books are featured. Hogwarts, Dumbledore, _The Quibbler_, and the Ministry of Magic _are_ mentioned. All new characters belong to me.

**Date Written:** October 01, 2004 – July 16, 2006

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**The Waxing Moon**

**Chapter 1: The Owl's Nest Inn**

The sky above was slowly changing from black to grey when Colette Moon arrived in the small, quiet town of Lachlan. The street before her was deserted and the buildings on either side loomed like dark giants; she did not see any gold rays of light slipping through heavy curtains or beneath doors, and for all purposes, the town felt empty. It was still in the early hours of the morning and not even the sun had risen yet.

Breathing deeply, she shifted the traveling bag over her shoulder and moved quietly down the main street in search of the local inn. Near the edge of town, in a cluster of rundown structures, she spied the old, worn wooden sign for The Owl's Nest Inn. It swayed gently in the light breeze, attached to the rusted rod by only one chain, the other having broken years before. The front of the inn did not look any different than the sign, and Colette carefully avoided the large whole in the steps.

She pushed open the dreary door and found herself standing in an exceptionally large and warm room. It was filled with numerous tables and booths, three of which were already occupied, and was lit by candles floating just above head level. A large fire ablaze inside the boundaries of a stone fireplace provided the warmth. The walls held only a few paintings—most appeared to be landscapes—and no windows. Only the crackling of the fire and an occasional cough from a patron filled the otherwise silent room.

Immediately to her left was a small counter with an old register, a tattered quill stuck in a dirty inkwell, and a tarnished bell. Without hesitation, she pressed the bell and a loud, clear tone echoed through the quiet room. At once Colette felt every eye shift towards her, and she refused to return their penetrating gazes as she waited patiently for the innkeeper. A moment later, he appeared from one of the many doors the led away from the main room. He was a tall man, dressed in a casual grey robe, and had been handsome in his younger days, though his graying beard hid most of his lower face from view.

"Wot can I do fer ye, lass?" he asked not unpleasantly in a thick accent.

"My name is Colette Moon, and I have a reservation," answered Colette in a quiet voice so not to be overheard by the curious patrons.

"Oh, yea, the city-lass," said the innkeeper amiably. "The way Berkley spoke, I wasn't expecting ye 'til later, but…" He shrugged his broad shoulders and gave a deep chuckle. "If ye would just sign the register."

Colette took the old quill, dipped it into the almost dry inkwell, and quickly signed the faded parchment. As she wrote her name and the date of her arrival in the appropriate places, her eyes quickly scanned those registered within the passed week, which happened to be only three names. These included a Patrick Timins, who checked in on April 3 and out on April 4; a Henry Llyod, who checked in on April 2 and was still present; and an Archibald Delaney who checked in on March 31. However, the name directly above Mr. Delaney caught her attention. An E.W. had checked in on March 13 and there was no check out date written. Then she returned the quill to the inkwell and her attention back to the innkeeper.

"So how much did Berkley tell you," she inquired softly.

"Some," replied the innkeeper with a twinkle in his dark eyes. "And I will help ye wot I can, but it won't be much, mind. By the way, me wife Shelley was so happy when she heard that a lass was coming. She spruced up the auld honeymooning suite for ye to stay in while ye are here. If ye like, I can send your things on up while ye eat some breakfast."

"Thank you," Colette said with a smile.

The innkeeper grinned beneath his beard as he took an old wand from inside his robes and pointed them at her traveling bag. He muttered something low under his breath and the bag immediately vanished. He then told Colette to find a seat while he went to tell his wife that she had arrived. As she turned about, Colette noticed that one of the three occupants in the room was looking at her. The man's dark eyes were piercing and unblinking as he studied her, and Colette found it quite unnerving. She pretended not to notice the man as she weaved through empty tables to one in particular, a small round table situated between the fireplace and the painting of a stormy sea—and directly across the room from the strange man.

As she took her seat, Colette mused over what the relationship between the old innkeeper and her boss, Samson Berkley, was. Had they been childhood friends? Distant cousins? Yet they looked and sounded nothing alike. She was barely seated when a petite woman entered into the room and approached her table, a tray with a steaming bowl in her hands. The woman was much younger than the innkeeper, her face still youthful and her hair still brown. She smiled as she set the steaming bowl in front of Colette.

"Good morning to ye, dear," she greeted happily. "I am Shelley."

"I'm…"

"I know, dear, and it is so good to see such a pretty face around here. We only get a few strangers now and then because the harsh winters makes people less incline to travel, and I cannot remember the last time a young witch visited." Shelley spoke with a very light accent, and Colette found herself liking the cheerful woman immediately. Her eyebrows suddenly rose as she looked down at Colette, "Though I think the reason for ye being here is futile, I am pleased to have you around. I don't suppose ye fancy a quick chat or two sometime?"

"Not at all, Shelley," smiled Colette. She could see the woman's longing for female companionship plain enough, even if her disapproval of Colette's mission was just as obvious. Colette made a mental note to uncover more about Shelley.

"Good. I will leave ye to your soup then."

It took Colette only a few minutes to eat the delicious soup, yet when she was finished, she noticed that the booth directly across the room from her was empty. The dark man with the penetrating eyes had departed, and she wondered which of the registered guests he was. The other two patrons — a wizen old gentleman sipping slowly on a mug and gazing at her from over the rim, and a sly, greasy looking wizard whose beady black eyes danced darted back and forth — were still present, seated some distance from each other and from Colette.

When Shelley returned to retrieve Colette's dishes, she asked who the dark eyed man was.

"Oh, ye must mean Ethan," said Shelley pleasantly. "He is a drifter. American, I think, by the accent. Poor dear is such a sweet and friendly soul. When he first arrived, he was so pale that I thought for sure that he was on the brink of death. Hugh offered him a job and, believe it or not, the lad is as strong as an ox!"

"So what does he do?" asked Colette. She removed a small notebook and quill from inside her traveling cloak and began taking notes.

"Odds and ends, dear. Yesterday he fixed the hole in the roof," Shelley said amiably. "Poor Hugh's back gave out last year and now he cannot do all of the manual work. It was providence that Ethan showed up when he did. I even managed to put some meat on his bones with my cooking. What are ye doing?"

"Whenever I am on an assignment, I jot down things," replied Colette quietly. "People who are in the area, what their occupation is, and what they may know."

"Oh, well, that is smart," said Shelley with a shy smile, "but there is no story here in Lachlan."

"Why do you say so?" inquired Colette carefully.

"I have lived here in Lachlan since I married Hugh, and I haven't once seen a wolf, let alone a werewolf, in the woods around here," stated the innkeeper's wife matter-of-factly. "Besides, all of the witnesses claim to have seen this werewolf on nights when there was not a full moon, and any fool knows that werewolves only transform on full moons."

"True," murmured Colette as she transcribed what Shelley had just imparted to her. "Do you know the names of these witnesses? I would like to speak with them myself."

"Certainly, dear. There is Millicent Madsby, an old mad witch who lives on the edge of the forest, and Gerald Peterson, he used to own the general store before Maximilian Cornwallis bought it, and a wizard who had stopped overnight, but he moved on. It is probably from him that Samson caught wind of this ridiculous idea of a werewolf near here."

"Do you remember his name?"

"No, I am sorry, but his name escapes me. Why don't you freshen up, dear? The trip from London can be tiring."

"Thank you for breakfast, Shelley."

Colette stood and quickly left the main room. She followed Shelley's directions to the stairs, which was down a narrow hall, and preceeded up to the first floor. She took the north hall and passed closed doors with tarnished number plates nailed on them. She paused at the last door and placed her wand hand against the wood just above the doorknob. She heard a soft _click_ as the door unlocked, and she opened it. The honeymooning suite was nicely decorated, though it was no elaborate stateroom in a London high rise hotel. Her traveling bag was on a chair beside the queen-size bed, and Colette decided that she would feel better if she freshened up a bit.


	2. Chapter 2: Whispers of a Werewolf

**Chapter 2: Whispers of a Werewolf**

Colette removed her heavy traveling cloak and set it on a peg near the door; then, as she crossed the room to the chair, she began to loosen her thick russet hair from its plaits. She had left London in a rush the evening before, having received her newest assignment shortly before she would have returned home for the night. Samson Berkley had called her into his office after most of her coworkers had left and had explained the assignment to her: she was to travel to Lachlan, Scotland, and uncover the truth behind the werewolf rumors that were beginning to spread.

The story was big, a potential landmine, and it could not only jumpstart her career as a serious journalist but also add prestige to the fledging magazine _Eccentricity_. Colette had hurried home to contact her mother with the news that she had to cancel their vacation to France to visit Grandpapa and Grandmama Lowell; she hastily packed and then caught a ride on the Knight Bus. She had spent the trip reading a few of books she had brought on werewolves.

Colette laid down on the bed and reread the notes she had taken during breakfast. It was short and did not really provide any insight into the rumors. She dug out one of the books she brought along and opened it to the chapter on werewolves. She scanned the section to refresh her memory on the subject, but as she read about the differences between a werewolf and a normal wolf, her eyelids began to feel heavy and slowly began to droop.

A few minutes later Colette decided to take a quick nap and was about to set the notebook and book on the nightstand when a knock resounded off her door. Wondering who would be at the door, Colette forced herself to stand, cross the room, and open it. She was surprised to find herself looking up into the dark, piercing eyes of Ethan the drifter. He was taller than she had realized, and his shaggy hair was just a shade lighter than black. He held a few thick logs and smaller tinder in his arms.

"Excuse me for bothering you," he apologized with calm courtesy. His voice was deep, clear, and pleasant to the ear, such a contrast to his cold, unapproachable appearance. "Shelley asked me to bring up some firewood and start a fire for you. Today is going to be a cold, wet day."

"Thank you. Please come in," Colette said with a smile.

She stepped back to give him room to enter. As he crossed the threshold, the sleeve of his worn, gray robe brushed her arm, and Colette involuntarily shuddered. She decided to leave the door open, and then followed Ethan inside. She noticed from watching his back as he walked to the empty fireplace that he was broader in the shoulders than she would have thought. He knelt and began to place the logs and tinder appropriately. She knew she could not have asked for a more perfect situation for discovering more about the mysterious man than then, but his standoffish presence caused her mind to pull a blank.

"Do you... need any help?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," came the short reply as he took a sleek wand from inside his robes and pointed to the fireplace. Sparks shot out of the tip and ignited the tinder, and within a few seconds, there was a nice fire blazing in the fireplace. Ethan stood, pocketed his wand, and turned around. He crossed the wooden floor without making a sound and wordlessly passed Colette.

"Wait," exclaimed Colette. He lingered in the doorway and looked at her with his unblinking eyes. She tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. Finally she said, "I don't know your name."

"Ethan," he said after a short pause. "Ethan Wolfe."

"Thank you, Ethan," said Colette graciously. He studied her for a moment, and she was tempted to hold her breath under such a fierce, steady gaze.

"You're welcome, Miss Moon."

He pulled the door shut as he left the room, and Colette returned to the bed to record her observations of the man into her notebook. There was something different about him, and it bothered her a great deal. She needed to clear her mind and focus on her investigation; so she began to formulate a schedule in her mind. After her nap and before lunch, she decided she should pay Millicent Madsby a visit and ask a few questions about what she saw. She set her notebook and quill on the nightstand and was lulled to sleep a few minutes later by the soft crackling of the glowing fire.

Two hours and a fresh gown later, Colette locked the suite and went downstairs. The main room was silent and empty, but she honestly was not concerned. She pushed open the heavy door, pulling her cloak close about her at the drastic difference in the cold outside temperature. She went down the broken steps, evading the large holes, and stood for a moment on the dirt of the street, wondering which direction she should head.

At that moment, Ethan Wolfe came around the corner of the gray building, his robes replaced by worn muggle jeans and t-shirt. He was carrying an old metal ladder over his shoulder and a hammer in the other hand. His dark eyes spied Colette quickly, but he made no acknowledgement until he leaned the ladder against the wall of the inn.

"Heading out somewhere, Miss Moon?"

"Yes," answered Colette. "Shelley recommended that I speak with Millicent Madsby, but I have no idea where to find her."

He turned to face her, arms crossed over his chest and facial expression incomprehensible to Colette. "Ms. Milly is a nice but lonely old lady who lives alone in a small cottage in the next glen. She is an expert herbologist as well as potion maker, and it is from her gardens that the local folk get all their apothecaric needs."

"So you are not from Lachlan, Mr. Wolfe?" inquired Colette even though she already knew his answer. He gave a half smile and shook his head, causing his mane-like hair to fall into his face.

"No, I am merely passing through, doing a few odd jobs to earn enough money so I can move on," he replied quietly. "Just keep walking north, Miss Moon. The path dead-ends right into Ms. Milly's place."

Colette smiled. "Thank you very much. Have a nice day!"

The small village of Lachlan was as forlorn and deserted by day as it had been by night, and during her stroll down the street in the direction Ethan had told her, in search of Millicent Madsby's home, she did not see one person—wizard or muggle. She began to understand the deep longing for companionship that Shelley had displayed earlier, for the village seemed literally dead. She passed the Lachlan General Store and saw, to her surprise, that the sign on the dirty glass read _Open_ in a scrawling hand. Perhaps on her return to the Inn, she would pay Mr. Cornwallis a visit and ask him a few questions.

As she continued walking, she found that the buildings began to grow smaller and more rundown than those before, and a few minutes later, the street narrowed into a dirt path. The moist dirt made soft crunching sounds beneath her boots, and she cast a weary eye up at the gray, overcast sky. She did not wish to be caught out in the middle of nowhere in a downpour. The temperature had dropped, and she snuggled deeper into her traveling cloak. Suddenly, her eyes noticed a small stone cottage nestled beneath a grove of trees with an old wooden fence forming the perimeter of a wild garden, and she approached.

"Hello?" she called as she reached the rusted gate. "Anyone home? Hello?"

"I hear yar hollerin', so ye can quiet down," came a gruff voice from just inside the cottage.

An old, stooped woman appeared at the doorway dressed in brown robes and with two long white braids draped over her shoulders. Her wrinkled, weathered face scrunched as she examined Colette, and then she gave an inviting wave. Colette pushed open the gate and strolled down the path to the cottage.

"Are you Millicent Madsby?"

"Aye, and who ye be, lassie?" the old witch inquired in a thick Scottish voice.

"I am Colette Moon, and if you do not mind, I would like to ask you a few questions," replied Colette with a polite smile. The woman's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Colette, and then, suddenly, she turned and disappeared into the cottage. Startled, Colette quietly followed her.

The inside of the cottage was small with barely enough room for the massive fireplace, table, and cot. Dried herbs hung from the rafters, and the stone walls were covered with magical paraphernalia. A large cauldron was boiling over a roaring fire, giving off a sickly odor.

"Ye can sit if ye liken," the witch said as she went to stir the contents of the cauldron. "Ye can ask me all yar questions, lassie, but there'll be no promises that I'll be answerin' them."

"I heard that a week ago you claim to have seen a werewolf in or around Lachlan," Colette began right off, for the woman did not seem one for small talk. She pulled out her small notebook and quill, ready to take notes.

"Aye, so I did."

"Could you tell me everything you remember?"

"Ye aren't one of those…Ministry aurors…are ye?" Madsby demanded suspiciously.

"Oh, no. I do not work for the Ministry," Colette answered with a smile. "I am a freelance journalist."

"Then, I guess, I will be tellin' ye about it." There was a long pause as Madsby gathered her thoughts, and then she began, "It would be Tuesday eve when I saw it first. I be gathering ladyslippers and moonglow from the forest, and as ye may know, those herbs can only be harvested at night. I be startled by a strange noise, and as I watched, a werewolf ran passed me into the woods. I've seen wolves in these parts before, and I knew the difference 'tween them."

"Tuesday was not a night of the full moon," Colette stated as she scribbled the woman's story.

"Aye, it wasn't," came the short retort. Colette glanced up at the old witch and found Madsby staring at her. "I've lived a long time, lassie, and I've seen many things thru' the years. I lived thru' the werewolf attack of 1902, and I know all about them."

"You are positive that it was Tuesday when you witnessed the werewolf?"

"Aye, I am. Werewolves transform at the full moon, I know, but I stand by what I saw," said the woman.

"I have another question, then," continued Colette. "I heard that you are the resident expert on herbs and potions. If a werewolf was in this area, is it possible to find the ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"One would have to be an expert potions master to create a potent batch of that potion," responded Madsby slowly. "But, aye, most of the ingredients grow in these parts and those that don't are common enough to be bought at the general store."

Colette stayed only a few minutes longer before politely excusing herself. She told Madsby that she would be in town for a few more days and asked if the old witch minded if she visited again. Madsby did not hesitate to agree, and then she went on her way. The sky was considerably darker than when she had first traveled down to Madsby's cottage, but she arrived in Lachlan before the raindrops began to fall. Just as the drizzle turned into a shower, she slipped inside the Lachlan General Store, and a jingling bell announced her presence.


	3. Chapter 3: Old Man Peterson

**Chapter 3: Old Man Peterson**

The store was not large but every inch of it was filled with items, from food to potion ingredients to books to magical objects. A burly man with a thick moustache appeared from a backroom, wiping his hands on a hand towel.

"Ow can I 'elp you, missy?" he asked with a broad grin. "I've just got a few bottles o' perfume in yesterday—_Poison_ and _Lotus_, both French, eh?"

"No, thank you," Colette refused as courteously as she could. "I am here just to ask you a few questions, if I may be so bold."

"Go right a'ead," the man said with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders.

"Over the passed few weeks, have you noticed anything strange here in Lachlan?" Colette asked. "An increase in visitors? Suspicious strangers? Disappearances?"

"O, you are one o' them reporters 'ere about the wolf thing," the storeowner said. "Nah, there 'aven't been nothing strange 'appening 'ere. If I might say so, I don't believe any o' the wild stories any'ow. A bunch o' crazy old folks reliving their child'ood memories."

"Sorry to bother you, then. Oh, one more thing. Could you tell me where I might find Mr. Gerald Peterson?"

"Old man Peterson? Yah, 'e's got 'imself a right purty 'ouse on the other side o' town," answered Cornwallis. "You cain't miss 'im since 'e sets out on 'is front porch all day long."

"Thank you, Mr. Cornwallis, for your time," she said with a nod of her head.

"Stop by anytime, young missy."

It was still raining hard outside, and so Colette replaced the notebook inside her cloak and pulled up the hood. She removed her wand from inside her cloak and muttered a quick water repellant charm before stepping out into the downpour. Raindrops pummeled her head and shoulders but bounced right off her cloak. She strolled quickly down the now muddy street, head down to keep the rain from her eyes. It was not until she was near the area where the Knight Bus had dropped her off the night before when she looked up and saw an old man sitting in a rocking chair, sheltered from the storm by the roof of his patio.

"Mighty fine weather we are havin'," called out the old man after taking a long suck on a wooden pipe and blowing a smoke ring into the air. "I haven't see you 'fore now. Visitin'?"

"You could say that," Colette replied with a grin. "May I come join you where it is dry?"

"If'n you want to, but that is a mighty fine charm you've used there. You'll have to tell me how to do that one." He gave a deep chuckle as she climbed the steps. "So what's your name, girl?"

"Colette Moon," she replied. "I am a journalist."

"Ah," the old man said as he gave a half-smile and nodded his head. "I knew that it won't be long 'fore all you reporters came a'visitin', sniffin' around. Not with somethin' as big as this sucker, just a'waitin' for someone to pluck it."

"You could say that, Mr. Peterson," Colette agreed. She was already reaching for her notebook. "But as far as I know, I am the only journalist in Lachlan. I came to find out if there is any truth behind the werewolf rumors."

"Rumors." He took another puff of his pipe. "Heh. That nosy witch at the Inn must have told you about me, eh? Bloody lass. Yeah, I've seen it. Thrice now."

"You have seen a werewolf three times?" repeated Colette, eyebrows raised with curiosity.

"In the last two weeks," answered Peterson stiffly. "And don't give me none of that 'werewolves only transform at the full moon' stuff; I know all about these blighters. I was around these parts back in 1902 durin' the werewolf hunt. Lost my brother to it, in fact, bitten by one of the bloody things. Then the aurors came, and he was one of them that they killed."

"Oh, I am terribly sorry," sympathized Colette sincerely.

"Don't be, girl. There was nothin' you could have done for him," commented the old man dryly.

"Since you do know so much about werewolves," Colette inquired curiously, "do you know how one could be seen on a night other than the full moon?"

"Yes," stated Peterson. He blew out smoke and puffed again on his pipe. "We Scotsmen have many folktales; some of them false but others true. One says that when two werewolves mate, the offsprin' are born with different characteristics than regular werewolves. It is said by some that these offsprin' transform with any moonlight, not just the full moon."

There was an awkward moment of silence where the only sound was the rain splattered the roof above them and the creaking of Peterson's rocking chair. She decided to change the subject.

"Besides the werewolf, has there been anything strange happening here in Lachlan?"

"Strange, yah. Mighty strange things happenin' here, believe you me," the old man continued. "I have lived here all of my life, grown up here, raised my son here. Anyhow, thirteen years ago that bloody witch came and things haven't been the same since."

Colette felt a pit beginning to form in her stomach while listening to the old man. "Who?"

"Hugh's wife," answered Peterson. "Hugh was a mighty good man. I was good friends with his father and later with him. I don't think it was right for him to remarry; his wife was a right sweet girl and their boy grew up mighty fine. Course, that was 'fore that witch came into the picture. I'm not blaming nobody, just sayin' that things are different now."

Colette scribbled his words as quickly as she could. "Different how, Mr. Peterson?"

"Well, my grandson—Kenny is his name—went a'missin' five and a half years back, gone for nearly six months. I thought for certain that he was dead, but one day he showed up again like nothin' had happened. He was different, though. More quiet than 'fore and not as friendly, but I said nothin' about it. I thought maybe he had changed because I was spendin' most of my time at the store, so when Cornwallis made an offer, I sold. Then three years ago Kenny disappeared again. Haven't seen him since."

"You have no idea where he is?" Colette asked in shock. "You haven't contacted anyone? The Ministry has a missing persons department—"

"There isn't no reason to search for him, girl," the old man interrupted her. "He'll be back in a little while, just like 'fore. It is one of those things I am a'tellin' you about, how things have changed around here. Many of the wizardin' folk have left or gone a'missin', and it is the same with the muggles."

"And when did this begin?"

"About ten years ago, not that it matters much. Nothin' I've told you will ever get published," commented Peterson dryly, and Colette looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Why do you say that?"

"They didn't let it happen 'fore, six years ago, and they won't let it happen now."

"Who is they?" Colette demanded, but Peterson remained silent, rocking back and forth in his chair. "What happened six years ago?"

"A young dandy of a reporter came around sniffin' for a story, found one too, but he disappeared the night 'fore he was goin' to leave," chuckled the old man as if the story amused him. Then he suddenly become serious. "Whatever he had prepared for the big paper he worked for disappeared along with him. You better be careful, girl, if'n you want to stay alive."

A sudden loud clap of thunder roared above them, causing Colette to jump. She put her notebook back in her cloak and stood up, having suddenly realized that it was late in the afternoon. She had spent the entire day out interviewing people and had forgotten to eat. The old man blew another smoke ring into the air.

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Peterson," she said slowly.

"You're a nice girl, so I hope you smart enough to leave 'fore you stir up any trouble," the old man warned her.

She noted his warning, having realized that this man was, perhaps, the most reliable source of information she had come across. With a loud _pop_ she Disapparated from the damp, smoking porch and Apparated in the hall just outside her hotel room.


	4. Chapter 4: An Unwanted Presence

**Chapter 4: An Unwanted Presence**

Colette turned on her heels and jogged down the stairs to the main room, stomach rumbling for nourishment. As she entered, she saw a lithe man leaning against the counter while running his gloved fingers through fair, sandy brown hair. A pit formed in her stomach as she recognized the wizard, and she was tempted to disappear into the hall, but it was too late, he had seen her.

"Colette, what a pleasant surprise," greeted the wizard with a boisterous salutation. "You look as radiant as always, despite the cold hard truth that your journalistic skills are non-existent and you are unable to find a real job with a prestigious publication."

"It is nice to see you, too, Grimshaw," Colette replied through clenched teeth. She noticed the two large suitcases at his feet. "Are you staying long in Lachlan?"

"I have yet to make up my mind; I am visiting relatives, after all," replied the wizard with a cheeky grin. "And you?"

"Vacation," said Colette sarcastically. "I thought a nice quiet week in a little known Scottish village would be quite relaxing, but now that the neighborhood has gone to the dogs…"

Grims narrowed his blue eyes, curling one side of his lips up in a sneer. "Are you speaking of the rumors or of me, Colette? Because, if you are implying me, I would like to tell you how hurtful your words are to me after all the adventures, story-chasing, and dangers we have been through together. Have you not realized how much pleasure seeing you on a regular basis gives me?"

"Only in your dreams," muttered Colette as she glared up at the wizard. His sudden grin irritated her and she added, "I certainly hope your visit with your relatives is a quiet, uneventful, boring one."

"Aw, do not be so pessimistic, Colette dear. If there _is_ a story out there, I will be the one to find it," he said with a smirk. He stepped closer to her and raised his hand to her face, gripping her chin and forcing her head back. "Working for a well-known journal has its benefits, and it is such a shame to see your talents wasted at that two-cent wannabe. I could change all that, if you just say the word."

"Get your filthy paw off of me, Grims," snapped Colette. She glared up at the tall wizard with an even gaze, knowing that in spite of him stealing her stories and having them published in _The Quibbler_, she was the better of the two when it came to performing magic —and her fingers were inching their way to her wand.

"It would be wise to heed the lady," came the deep voice of Ethan.

Grims let go of Colette's chin with a jolt, startled that someone else had been present during their little exchange, and Colette wondered when Ethan had arrived, for she had not seen him either. Ethan stood nearly a head taller than Grims and was almost twice as broad in the chest and shoulders, and Grims took notice. The drifter's dark eyes were flashing with irritation, and through a snarled lip, he ordered Grims to get to his room. Grims used his wand to charm his two bulky suitcases to follow him down the hall and up the stairs, leaving Colette alone with Ethan.

"It looks like I owe you another thank you," Colette said as she turned to face Ethan. "Even though I could handle him myself. I have before."

"I suspected you two had a history," remarked the drifter-turned-handyman.

"Yes," sighed Colette. "A very long and dark history." She ran her fingers through her loose hair in annoyance. "Grims is nothing more than an egotistical, harassing thief."

"I don't care much for reporters," Ethan spoke softly, "but I care even less for thieves and people who do not treat others with respect."

She looked away at his words, wondering where he was leading their conversation. They stood in quiet silence for a moment as she studied a crack in the wall.

"So what are you doing here in Lachlan, Miss Moon?" Ethan asked softly. He raised an eyebrow as he added, "Besides taking a vacation and bothering everyone with questions."

"My boss sent me here to investigate a possible werewolf sighting," answered Colette with a resigned sigh. "If there is any truth to the rumors and if I can beat Grims to publication, it could jump shoot my career."

"Is that all?" inquired Ethan leisurely. "Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Moon, but there is no story here."

"So people keep telling me," replied Colette with a determined shake of her head, "but I can sense that this town is hiding something, and I plan on discovering what it is."

"Some secrets are not meant to be uncovered," warned the handyman.

Her eyes narrowed in skepticism. "Is that a warning or a threat, Mr. Wolfe?" she countered wearily. Ethan took a step closer to her, his dark eyes staring intensely down at her.

"I am merely stating that not all secrets are meant to be publicized in some magazine," he retorted. "Besides, what would happen if you found that there was some fact behind the rumors? The Ministry would surely send out aurors to either kill the werewolf or capture the creature for the Department of Mysteries to study."

"An unregistered werewolf wrecking havoc in Scotland is a threat to the lives of many people," replied Colette softly.

"And by publicizing it, you would be just doing your civic duty?" snapped Ethan in disgust. "You should be very careful, Miss Moon. There may be more at stake than first meets the eye, and the individual who creates a threat may find herself in grave danger."

"But, if what everyone keeps reminding me is true and there is no story here in Lachlan, then there is no danger."

"Just be careful, Miss Moon," Ethan repeated.

"Funny, you are the second person to tell me that today," said Colette slowly. "Is there something going on here that I should worry about?"

"It would go better for you if you packed and left Lachlan before tonight."

Colette narrowed her eyes at the man's suggestion. "Thank you for the advice, but I am perfectly capable of defending myself from whatever danger lurks here. Good day."

With that, Colette spun on her heels and vanished into the hall on her way back to her room. She climbed the dark steps and was fortunate not to run into Grimshaw as she went down the hall towards her room.


	5. Chapter 5: A Puppet on Strings

**Chapter 5: A Puppet on Strings**

When Colette was safe in the honeymooning suite, with the door shut and locked behind her, she threw herself on the queen size bed in frustration. Her mind was racing from irritation and anger; she knew that she did not have any comprehensible information, but with Grimshaw on the case, she had to find _something_ and fast. Not for the first time in her journalism career she wondered why she had pursued journalism; after all, with her Outstandings N.E.W.T.s she had her pick of promising careers—auror, healer, professor, and many others.

She corrected herself; she _did_ know why she chose journalism. Yet over the passed six years, she had been tempted more than once to give it up and pursue a different career path. Only one thing prevented her: she would have to give in to her father's pressuring to take on a job at the Ministry, to follow in his footsteps, to conform to the wizard standard, and to settle for a monotonous life.

With a deep sigh, she stood and slowly removed the heavy cloak. She pulled her notebook from the inside pocket before tossing it over the chair. She sat back down on the bed, folding her legs up beneath her, and using her wand to summon the books she wanted. Then she spread the materials out on the bed in front of her, and carefully began to peruse the notes she had taken, reorganizing them so that it made chronological sense.

"There has to be something," she muttered to herself. She ran her fingers through her hair. "Okay, think. Sightings occurred in the passed two weeks; four individuals checked in during that time, but only one checked out. Three witnesses: a mad witch who claims to have seen the werewolf, a sensible old man who has a disappearing grandson and a grudge against Shelley, and a third mysterious man who left town. Three people have told me there is no story here, and two have warned me against danger. All in a town that is slowing dying. Ack, none of it makes any sense!"

With a groan of frustration, she left the bed and began to pace the honeymooning suite. After a few minutes, she froze.

"Maybe I am looking at everything wrong," she told herself.

She had been viewing the possible story based off a rumor of a werewolf, but what if the story ran deeper than just a werewolf? What if there was more to Lachlan than what met the eye? She rushed back to the bed and glanced over her notes one more time. Peterson had said that the strange things began happening ten years ago. That is what she needed to start with, not the werewolf but the disappearances.

What would make a thriving Scottish town suddenly fade from existence? Why would the inhabitants leave their homes and move elsewhere? Perhaps it was fear. But fear of what? Werewolves, certainly not. From both Madsby and Peterson she had learned that the village of Lachlan had survived a massive invasion by werewolves before. It would take much more than one single werewolf to frighten an entire town enough for people to move. What was worse than a werewolf?

She drummed her fingers on her notebook as she skimmed through an old Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. Suddenly, she paused and began to read a specific chapter, and the blood in her veins ran cold. Her fingers gripped her wand tightly, wondering why in the world she had come to Lachlan in the first place.

Quickly, she moved to the door and conjured up the most thorough warding charm she could think of, one that would prevent anyone other than herself from entering into the honeymooning suite. Then inside the charm, she slowly built a second spell, one that would protect her from any harm. The charm extended to any other entryways into the room, such as the windows and the fireplace. After the charm was completed, she exited her room in search of Ethan.

He was not in the main room, but quite a few others were. The two patrons were sipping on steaming mugs and Shelley was chatting with Grimshaw. All eyes fell on Colette when she entered the room, and Shelley gave a warm smile.

"I was wondering where ye were, dear," the innkeeper's wife said cordially. "You went off without any lunch, and I began to worry so."

"Thank you for your concern," replied Colette politely. "Do you know where Ethan may be?"

"Ethan?" repeated Shelley, with only mild surprise in her voice. "I believe he is with Hugh, why?"

"Nothing important," she said as off-handedly as possible. "I just needed to ask him something."

Shelley gave a tight smile. "If I may say so, dear, I don't think it is right for ye to be pestering everyone with annoying questions. We Scottish don't appreciate prying people."

Colette noticed a tone in the woman's voice she had never heard before. "Oh, you don't have to worry, Shelley. After the interviews I had today, I came to the conclusion that the werewolf rumors were merely two old folk reminiscing on half-forgotten times. I am thinking about leaving tonight."

"Oh, you will be leaving us so soon?" murmured Grimshaw in a loud, mocking tone. "It would be a shame not to have you around, Colette. After all, Dad and Shelley were planning on a wonderful little party to celebrate my birthday."

Colette started then frowned at his broad grin. "Dad, did you say?"

"Oh, yes," Shelley spoke up in a slow taunting voice. "I thought since ye and Grims know each other so well that he would have told ye already. Hugh is his dad and I'm his step-mother. We would love to have ye for dinner."

"I don't know," said Colette as calmly as she could. A very bad feeling was creeping up into her mind, and she noticed that the two patrons had stopped sipping their drinks and were watching her with cold, unblinking eyes. She racked her brain for any _believable_ excuse possible. "Berkley is expecting me to report in with the news, or lack there of."

"Oh, come now, dear," said Shelley with a smile. As she spoke, her slight accent grew thicker. "Ye know as vell as ve do that Samson is not expecting ye to report in for another two days. Ye cannot believe how difficult it vas for us to get ye to come to little forgotten Lachlan."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't play coy with us, Colette," reprimanded Grimshaw sharply. He stood, his robes swirling about him and his sandy brown hair bouncing about his face. "I have spent the passed thirteen years of my life studying you, ever since I saw you at the sorting of your first year at Hogwarts. When I heard your name called and I saw you, I knew you were the one.

"Since that day I have carefully followed every step in the plan. Mind, it was not easy, especially when you nearly gave in to your father's pressure to follow his footsteps in the Ministry. That would have ruined all of our plans, so Dad spoke with Samson Berkley, an old friend of his, and you were immediately hired by _Eccentricity_."

Colette felt numb as Grimshaw's words washed over her; it was as if her entire life had been a lie. She had merely been a puppet while complete strangers had control of her strings. Then she felt incredibly dirty, realizing that the individual who had been pulling her strings was non-other-than Grimshaw. She felt nauseous.

"Has everything been a lie," she asked in a forced whisper. "My career? The werewolf sighting? The interviews?"

"Oh, no, dear," said Shelley with a grin. "Vhatever Madsby and Peterson told ye about a verevolf is very true. It vas providence that brought Kenneth Ethan Volfe to Lachlan at the moment vhen ve so desperately needed something to draw you avay from London."

"What do you want with me?" demanded Colette hoarsely, though her quick mind was already piecing together the puzzle.

"There is a reason why my surname is Moonsbane, Colette," teased the wizard in a low, menacing voice. In a move faster than she had ever seen him move before, he brought his wand up so that it was pointed directly at her. "And I know you too well, so don't even think about reaching for that wand of yours. _Accio wand_."

Before she could react, her wand flew from her sash, across the room, and into his outstretched hand. Shelley immediately took it and began to examine the slender wood.

"Villow. Poverful vood for complex charms," murmured the innkeeper's wife. She ran her fingers over the smooth wand, eyes closed and a thin smile on her lips. "Dragon heart-string core shows not only pover but the strength to control it. It is a good vand, a good match."

She gave the wand back to Grimshaw before turning to the two patrons. "You two, guard the doors," she snarled fiercely, and the two men, the same ones that had been present at her arrival, hastened to obey the command. She then placed a comforting hand on her step-son's shoulder while her now cold eyes peered at Colette. "Only a few minutes left, my son, then all vill be finished."

"Where is Dad?" Grimshaw suddenly asked as he glanced down at his stepmother beside him. "I want him to be present."

"He is taking care of a volf problem," hissed Shelley sharply.

The nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach transformed into cold numbness, and Colette no longer felt herself. "Where is Ethan?" she demanded torpidly.

"Verevolves are too hard to control," murmured the innkeeper's wife in a low, sensuous tone. "Ethan vas useful to us, but he nearly fouled all of our carefully laid plans because of emotions. It is a shame that Hugh must dispose of him, but at least he comes vith no extra baggage—no vone to mourn him vhen he is dead."

"You will not get away with this," stated Colette through teeth clenched in anger. During the exchange, she had managed to slowly move back a few feet towards the hall.

Her words caused both Shelley and Grimshaw to throw back their heads in deep, scoffing laughter. When they looked back at her, she noticed that their teeth had grown into long, pointed fangs. Their faces had gone suddenly pale, and their eyes seemed to glow red in the dim light.


	6. Chapter 6: The Trap Snares Its Prety

**Chapter 6: The Trap Snares Its Prey**

Colette moved backwards grimly, her worst fears realized, and all of the defensive spells she knew she was unable to perform without her wand. Grimshaw's claw-like fingers held her precious wand, and her only prayer was that he would not snap it in two.

"Oh, and who will stop us?" Grimshaw laughed with the boyish charm that Colette remembered from school—only now it was foully tainted. "The Ministry? You?"

"The sun has set, my son," hissed Shelley. "You must do it before midnight."

"With pleasure," the former wizard replied with a toothy grin.

In one lightning move, Grimshaw leaped forward across the main room, but Colette managed to evade him by slipping into the dark hall. She ran with all her strength as fast as she could to the stairs, the heavy skirts of her gown rustling loudly about her. Taking the steps two at a time with one hand holding her long gown out of her way, she was halfway up the staircase when she suddenly collided with something in the middle of the stairs. Even in the darkness she could recognize Grimshaw; somehow, he had passed her or...everything she had ever studied and read about vampires came back to her.

"You are so predicable, Colette darling," he murmured as she jerked backwards swiftly to evade his grasp. "But I would have you no other way."

As he nonchalantly stepped down, Colette swung her right fist and it connected loudly with his jaw, causing him to fall against the opposite wall—out of surprise more than pain. In the brief moment, she raced up the rest of the stairs, her mind focused on only one thing: she had to reach the honeymooning suite. Without a wand to tap into her magic, she was completely defenseless against Grimshaw and the other vampires, but if she could reach the room and enter into the protected walls of her warding charm, she would be safe long enough to think of a plan of action.

She heard Grimshaw enter into the hall behind her, and his cold voice echoed as he said, "Your fiery spirit is quite attractive, but do not fool yourself into thinking that you can escape me with your childish antics."

Colette was breathless when she reached the door and pressed her wand hand against the wood, willing it to unlock speedily. When she heard the loud _click_, she hastily pushed open the door and slipped inside, slamming it shut immediately and locking it. Stepping back into the center of the room, she panted from exertion and tried to calm her racing heart. A fist hit the door hard, causing her to jump in fright.

"Colette darling, I know you are there," Grimshaw said through the door.

"Maman, j'aie aller avec toi à Paris," Colette muttered wistfully to herself as she moved to the bed and began to throw all of her things back into her traveling bag as quickly as she could. When she reached for her notebook, she discovered the place where it had been moments before empty. It had vanished.

"Your warding charm is good, my love, but not quite strong enough," taunted Grimshaw, and Colette spun around to find him towering over her, her notebook in his hand.

Casually, he flipped through the small book with an amused smile on his paling face.

"I must admit that this little book of yours caused me a lot of anguish over the years until I learned the key to unlocking the fancy code you write in. Clever, Colette, clever, but then…you have always been a clever one. Creating a code using a language other than English is brilliant, but after I did some digging into your family history, it was not difficult to figure it out. All I had to do was learn a little Welsh and a little French, and _voilà_."

"And to think, Grims," snapped Colette. "All these years I mistook you for a daft, mangy mutt, but in actuality, you are just a vile blood-sucker."

"That is your only fault," murmured the vampire with pleasure. "You always did think too small, and that is how I was able to manipulate you through all the years. Shelley, on the other hand, thinks far larger than anyone else I ever met. It was she who showed me how to master the power of the vampires and couple it with the wizard magic I was born with so that I could withstand sunlight and appear like any other. She showed me many other wonderful things that I can now show you, Colette darling."

"No, thanks," she muttered shortly.

Grimshaw chuckled in amusement. "Come, come, Colette. You cannot use your magic without your wand, and there is no way to escape me. The inevitable needs not to be painful."

As he stepped closer, Colette moved back and hit her legs on the bed. She lost her balance and fell backwards, landing hard on the bed and finding herself staring up at the dark ceiling. Grimshaw leaned over her, and with a defiant scream, Colette rolled to her right, over her traveling bag, off the bed, and on to her knees. She scrambled back to her feet despite tripping on the heavy skirts of her gown. The vampire's soft laughter rang in her ears; she was under no illusion that she remained one step ahead of the vile creature.

He was toying with her and she knew it.

"Not as graceful as I would have expected, but under such conditions," he stated in delight. "What do you plan to do next, my love? You are trapped and there is no where to run."

"There is one thing that I do not understand," Colette spoke up as she slowly backed towards the dimly glowing fireplace with one hand deftly hiding a small pouch of floo powder behind her flowing gown. She had grabbed it when she rolled over her traveling bag.

"Why now? Why bring me here to Lachlan and allow me to learn of your secret beforehand? You and I have been alone numerous times before."

"Ah, yes. It is all a matter of waiting for the opportune moment," replied Grimshaw as he slowly approached. "Do you think I would have been so stupid as to bite you while we were at Hogwarts together? I would not have been able to keep my little secret from Dumbledore if I had. You forget, my darling, that years to a mere mortal are but seconds in eternity to us vampires. We are very patient, buying our time until the most opportune moment."

Colette was just a foot away from the fireplace, and she carefully loosened the strings on the pouch with her fingers, preparing for her escape. It was that moment when Grimshaw chose to grab her, sharp claw-like nails digging into her left arm and waist. She did not see how he had crossed the room so quickly, but once she was in his strong embrace, she found herself unable to move. He purposefully dug his nails deeper in her arm, and the pain caused her to drop the pouch. It burst when it hit the floor, pilling the powder everywhere.

"I will enjoy this, Colette darling," murmured the vampire lustfully. He opened his mouth, revealing the sharp fangs, and began to lower his face to her exposed throat.

When his fangs were but a hair's breadth away, the room erupted into chaos. Blinding white light appeared around the door, window, and fireplace, accompanied by crackling and hissing. Grimshaw jerked his head away, red eyes narrowed in surprise.

"What is…" he began but was cut off as the brilliant light suddenly jumped from the walls and struck him.

Immediately, he released Colette, and she tumbled to the floor, landing awkwardly on her left wrist. Pain shot up her arm, but she ignored it as she scrambled away from the vampire. The white light was racing about his dark form like thousands of lightning bugs, and his startled face was examining the light. Then he doubled over with an ear-piercing shriek of pain as the light intensified and struck him. Colette knew that her Trojan horse had been successful, but his loud screams would draw the other vampires quickly. She needed her wand.

Grimshaw convulsed as the light electrified him, and carefully Colette stood. As the originator of the spell, the light would not harm her. She quickly grabbed hold of the vampire's robes and thrust her hand inside, searching for a hidden pocket. All about her the white light danced, and his shrieks were deafening to her ears. Finally, her fingers touched wood and she quickly withdrew two wands, hers and Grimshaw's. She stepped back, aware of his glaring red eyes watching her from behind the prison of light.

"Sorry, Grims, but I cannot allow you to run around with a wand," said Colette grimly. "That would be breaking clause three of the Code of Wand Use; after all, vampires are considered non-human creatures."

She raised his wand in front of her and broke it upon her knee, sending slivers of wood to the floor. She turned her back on Grimshaw and snatched her travelling bag and cloak from the bed. With the cloak about her, her traveling bag over her shoulder, and her wand held tightly in her hand, Colette moved to the window. She heard frustrated screams and pounding on the suite door as the other vampires had arrived but could not find a way into the room. With a deep breath, Colette began to prepare herself for the next minutes. She needed to escape the room, but to do so would break one of the three components of her spell.

She took another deep breath and pointed her wand at the closed window. "_Alohamora!"_ she muttered and the window obediently unlocked itself. She used her free hand to push it open, and all the lightening that had been racing around the window frame suddenly vanished. The intensity of the light in the room faded slightly as the door and the fireplace attempted to hold the magic. She had but seconds before the Trojan horse would fade completely. She climbed up on to the window and slipped through, taking care not to slide off the extremely steep roof. The light in the room behind her flickered.


	7. Chapter 7: The Battle Begins

**Chapter 7: The Battle Begins**

The night sky above was overcast; the waxing moon could barely be seen as it hid behind the black clouds. Colette carefully made her way to the roof's edge and peered down into the deserted street of Lachlan. A few feet below the roof was the rusted iron rod which held the Inn's sign, but she doubted it would hold her weight. Grimshaw's screams seemed quieter, and Colette knew she had no time left. She would have to jump.

She muttered a quick charm as she stood and pushed off from the roof with her feet. The fall took but a second, though her heart seemed to have stopped in her chest. She hit the dirt hard but nothing was broken, and she spun around, wand high, just as the last white light faded in the suite. The night sky was suddenly filled with the loudest, longest, most bloodcurdling bellow of frustration and anger Colette had ever heard in her life.

"Colette," hissed a deep voice from the shadows behind her. She spun around, wand at the ready, but it was not a vampire she saw.

"Ethan, you're alive," she gasped with a mixture of surprise and relief. She made to approach him, but he waved her off with a hand.

"No. Listen to me," he said. He was holding his side with one hand, and Colette thought she saw blood on his fingers. "You must get away from Lachlan now, before they find you again."

"But you're hurt—"

He grimaced. "I will heal. Now _go_!" he roared quietly.

As he spoke, the clouds thinned and the weak rays of the moon shone through. Ethan doubled over to the ground and groaned in pain.

"Go!" he roared again. He brought his head up so that she saw his transforming face. His nose and jaw were growing longer, his ears were lengthy, and shaggy hair was beginning to appear. His eyes were wide and imploring.

"I will distract them, but without the Wolfsbane Potion…I _will_ hurt you! Now _GO_!!"

Colette nodded wordlessly, her heart bleeding for the young man she barely knew. Behind her, The Owl's Nest Inn was the source of numerous screams and howls, all coming steadily closer. She spun on her heels and took off down the deserted street towards the edge of town. Her mind raced as she ran.

She would flag down the Knight Bus where they had dropped her off. Had it been only one day? To Colette, the past twenty-four hours had felt like a lifetime…a lifetime she did not care to repeat or extend farther.

Behind her, she heard the deep, malicious howl of a werewolf as the moon shone in the night sky, and even though she knew that beneath the wild exterior was Ethan, she could not help the shivers that climbed her spine and spread throughout her body.

She skidded to a halt when she recognized Mr. Peterson's house, and was raising her wand hand to hail the Knight Bus when something hit her about her waist, pulling her to the ground. As she fell, she tightened her fingers about her wand. She scrambled to pull herself free from the weight on top of her, and as she did so, she managed to turn enough to seen the enraged face of the greasy man from the Inn.

"Ye are finished," he hissed at Colette. "Ye will never leave this town—_alive_."

"We'll just see about that," replied Colette.

She brought her wand between her and the vampire and muttered a charm she had learned years ago—conjuring silver. Suddenly, a silver knife shot from the tip of Colette's wand and pierced Archibald Delaney directly in the heart. The vampire shrieked in anguish as the silver burned him, and he fell backwards on to the ground, wriggling in pain.

With wide eyes, Colette slowly got to her feet as the vampire screamed one last time and then died, his body disintegrating into dust, leaving the shiny silver knife on the dirt street. Colette bent down and picked up the knife, wondering if she would have need of it again. As she slid it into her sash, a snarling scream intermingled with a werewolf's bellowing challenge pierced the air, and she knew that somewhere near the Inn, Ethan and Grimshaw had begun to battle.

"What are you doin' just a'standin' there, girl?" scolded the voice of Mr. Peterson. Colette spun around to find him standing in the open door of his house, pipe protruding from his lips. "Get inside 'fore these bloody blighters arrive."

"You knew, Mr. Peterson?" Colette gaped as she raced up the steps and slipped inside the old man's house. He shut the door behind her and bolted seven locks.

"Yea, I knew, but I thought you would be smart and leave town 'fore anything happened," replied the old man. He gave Colette a piercing look of reprimand. "I didn't think that you would be such a stubborn one, but then, the young hardly ever do as they are told."

As he paused to look out of a small window, she defended herself. "I was leaving, Mr. Peterson, but I was ambushed by them. Are we safe in here?" demanded Colette dubiously as Peterson limped passed her.

"Those aren't just any old locks, girl," grinned the old man after he blew smoke from his mouth. He indicated for her to follow him down the barren hall. "I've spent my life a'buildin' up the defenses of my house against the likes of them. I remember the werewolf invasion well, and just 'cause I talk like an uneducated Scotsman doesn't mean I hadn't any education. I used to be a professor at Hogwarts School in my younger days; that would've been 'fore your time, of course."

"And what did you teach, Professor?" Colette asked in surprise.

As they entered into what should have been a dining room, she realized that the paraphernalia mounted on the walls and covering every surface — be it the bookshelves, end tables, and even the floor — answered her question. Peterson turned around, a grim grin on his wrinkled face.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," stated the old man.

He took one long suck on his pipe, blew out one last smoke ring, and then set the pipe on the desk. His gnarled hands expertly grabbed the artifacts laid out and fitted all the pieces together to form a crossbow, the bolts of which were silver.

"How long have you know about them?"

"I started to suspect somethin' a few years after that bloody witch married Hugh," commented Peterson as he slipped spare bolts into a quiver at his belt. "That would've been during your first year at Hogwarts, I believe. I remember that Christmas Holiday well, I do. Hugh's boy came home all excited 'bout some pretty little girl he had seen, a'swearin' to the world that he was in love and that no matter what it took, he was goin' to marry that girl."

"Grimshaw," Colette muttered with an involuntary shudder.

"Yea, Grimshaw," repeated the old man. He moved away from the table and approached a cracked mirror that Colette recognized as a Foe Glass. Inside were blurry shapes. "But that is not his name rightly; at least, not the name his mother gave him. Mighty fine woman, that girl was. Named him Cameron, she did."

Colette's eyes widened in surprise. "Cameron? Cameron Moonsbane?" She paused a moment, trying to take in everything that Peterson had told her, but something was still missing. "What about you, Professor? Why haven't you done anything before now?"

"Didn't have a reason to," muttered the old man. He straightened and began perusing a shelf where more items laid.

"After the reporter vanished six years ago, the Ministry contacted me, inquirin' and all. That was when I started to have an inklin' that there was more than first meets the eyes happenin' down at the Owl's Nest. So I set up a right smart reconnaissance operation at the general store. I discovered a lot, believe you me."

"So what happened?" urged Colette.

"Take this, girl," ordered Peterson as he tossed a muggle-like pistol to her. Colette deftly caught the weapon and peered at it curiously. "Aim for the heart and pull the trigger if'n you see a vampire. The muggle contraption comes in mighty handy at times—it shoots wooden bullets."

Colette did not let the old man side-track her for long. She stuffed the pistol into her sash next to the silver knife and asked, "What happened next, Professor?"

"They caught on and threatened to expose my grandson," murmured the old man. "That hit mighty hard, if'n you know what I mean. My boy is the only family I've got left, since my son and his wife were killed. So, I sold the store to Cornwallis. Bloody git is one of their mindless minions, turned bloodsucker five years back. Anyway, I couldn't do much at the time and they did not think of me as much of a threat, so I retired peacefully to my fortified house, waitin' for the right time."

Peterson turned to Colette with a smirk on his wrinkled face. "And since you took care of that bloody vampire all by your lonesome, I think that now is a mighty fine time to finish off the rest of them."

"You have to hurry," she urged. "Ethan is out there all by himself, and I think he is fighting with Grimshaw."

"Ah," muttered the old man.

He did not say another word as he took hold of his weapons and left the room. Colette hastened to follow him, her skirts rustling noisily.

"He can take care of himself," Peterson called over his shoulder. "We need to worry ourselves with that bloody witch who began all this and Hugh, Cornwallis, and any other brainless gofers Shelley created."

"How can the two of us take on who knows how many vampires?" demanded Colette.

The former DADA professor gave her an encouraging wink. "Good aim, girl. Mighty good aim."


	8. Chapter 8: Into the Vampires' Den

**Chapter 8: Into the Vampires' Den**

They reached the locked front door of Peterson's house and halted.

"Listen good and do whatever I tell you, or it will be you I'll have to stab through the heart," he ordered grimly.

His words sent shudders running through Colette's body, but she leaned in closer.

"We'll go down the center of the street towards the Inn; you cover the roofs and I'll do the ground. You've thirty-five bullets in that pistol of yours, so aim for the heart. When you use your last bullet, cast away the gun and use your wand in defensive tactics. If'n one comes mighty close, use that fancy knife of yours on them. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," answered Colette through dry lips. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she continued to wonder why she hadn't left Lachlan when she had the chance. Peterson's gaze steadied her.

"This is no time for a faint heart or childish heroics," he continued softly. "We are out numbered six to one and there is a werewolf on the loose. Are you ready, girl?"

"Yes," stated Colette with a firm nod. She pulled the pistol from her sash and held it with both hands.

Peterson unbolted the door swiftly and kicked it open, crossbow at the ready. The porch was empty, and he stepped out, scanning the dark street with quick eyes. Colette followed quietly. They moved out into the center of the street as the old man had suggested and carefully, side by side, walked through town.

Colette kept a fierce eye out for anything that moved in the shadows of the roofs. On the top of one slanted house, she could make out a pale, fanged face. She raised the pistol and took aim, squeezing the metal trigger with her finger. The shot that rang out echoed in her ears, and the vampire screamed as the wood bullet hit him in the shoulder.

"The heart, girl! Aim for the bloody heart!" shouted Peterson from slightly behind her.

He had already loosed two wooden bolts into the hearts of two vampires—one had been prowling the shadows, preparing to attack them, while the other was merely standing in the doorway to an abandoned home. Colette squeezed the trigger again and this time, the bullet pierced the heart of the vile night demon. The old man glanced over as the writhing body fell from the roof and was dust before it hit the ground.

"Don't get cocky, girl," he stated gruffly. "There are still nine bloodsuckers on the loose."

"Is one of them your grandson?" asked Colette diffidently. She received a deep chuckled from the former professor.

"I would've thought that you've figured it out by now, bein' as smart as you seem," commented the old man dryly.

Many thoughts raced through her mind at his words, but nothing seemed to stay as she forced herself to concentrate on the shadowy roofs and potential attackers.

"You know my grandson. I encouraged him to infiltrate the Inn, havin' been away from town and all for a few years. He was usin' a different name."

"Ethan," breathed Colette suddenly. Her eyes had just spotted a crumbled form lying in the center of the road directly in front of the Inn. She made to approach but was held back by Peterson's gnarled hand on her arm.

"It's a trap, girl," he whispered. His eyes were scanning the surrounding buildings wearily, and Colette noticed that the moon had vanished behind thick, black clouds. "He's a'watchin' us, waitin' for us to step into the trap."

"How do you know?" asked Colette lowly.

"Cause he would've killed Kenny 'fore now, right after the moon disappeared and he transformed back into a human," replied the old man calmly. His fingers quickly fitted a new silver bolt in the massive crossbow. "Get ready to use that gun."

Her hands tightened about the gun, and she waited for whatever instructions Peterson would give, but the old man remained silent. The stillness of the town was unnerving and was only broken when the crumpled form of Ethan Wolfe stirred on the ground a mere fifty yards from where Colette stood.

"Together," Peterson murmured barely audibly, "with our backs to one another. You face the right and I'll face the Inn. If you see anythin' move, girl, you better shoot it. Now."

At the command, Colette obediently started forwards, her back just inches from the old man's and the barrel of the pistol facing outward towards the tall, ominous buildings. Cautiously they walked, her eyes scanning the long shadows for any sign of movement.

They had nearly reached Ethan when she saw dark figures leap out at her, and she did not even have time to aim before she pulled the trigger. Wood bullets flew everywhere, and behind her, she could hear the mechanical _twangs_ of Peterson's crossbow. When she halted, she counted four piles of dust where vampires had been seconds before, and she did not know how many bullets she had left.

"Oh, very, very good," laughed the loud, mocking voice of Grimshaw. "I am truly impressed."

Colette assumed from the sound of Grimshaw's voice that he was somewhere behind her, near the Inn. She heard stiff movement as Peterson raised the crossbow and took aim; then a low, barely audible curse from the old man.

"It seems I have underestimated you, Peterson, but the night is still very young. After I rid myself of you, Colette and I can finish what we started."

A cold shiver ran down her spine at his frosty words, and she spun around to look for him, she saw no sign of the vampire anywhere.

"I'll take care of this young bloodsucker," snarled Peterson lowly to her. "You get Kenny back to my house 'fore the bloody moon shows it's face again. There is a potion bottle by the door, make him drink it."

The command in the old man's voice, expression, and posture as he shifted the dark arts weapon caused Colette to obediently nod. As she reached down to help Ethan to his feet, the old man grabbed her hand, staring into her eyes. She was surprised to find that his dark eyes and wrinkled face were full of concern and urgency.

"Be careful and quick, girl. There is still one vampire unaccounted for besides Grimshaw and at the first ray of moonlight, you must leave Kenny and run. He can fend for himself then, and you best not get in his way. Now, move!"

He released her and limped away into the darkness, leaving Colette alone with a dazed werewolf. She reached down, took hold of Ethan's thick arm, and heaved with all of her strength, but she barely lifted the man from the ground. He groaned and titled his head, revealing a nasty, bloody wound running the course of his face that nearly turned Colette's stomach.

"Think," she muttered to herself to keep from panicking.

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she cleared her mind of all that was around her. Swiftly, she pulled her wand from her sash and conjured a stretcher. She charmed Ethan's unconscious form into the stretcher and led it as quickly as she could towards Peterson's house. As she jogged down the deserted street alongside the levitating stretcher, her eyes scanned the surrounding darkness for any signs of the last vampire.

The night seemed darker than before and the air had become unbelievably cold, so that her fingers, which were wrapped about the pistol and her wand, seemed frozen. However, she barely noticed the numbness of her extremities, as all of her being was tense and alert for a possible attack.


	9. Chapter 9: The Silver Knife

**Chapter 9: The Silver Knife**

They reached the porch of the house without incident, and she quickly raced up the stairs. As she reached out her hand to pull open the door, Colette froze. Her ears had heard the sound of breath, and in a swift motion, she threw herself backwards just as a blurred form leaped from the rafters of the porch. The creature's claw-like fingers raked Colette's face, drawing blood, but her momentum carried her down the stairs and out of any mortal danger.

When she halted, facing the Peterson house with both her wand and the pistol ready, she saw Shelley perched on the railing like some bird of prey, fangs bared and an animalistic hiss coming from her mouth.

"Vomen can be so difficult," she hissed at Colette in the strange, thick accent. "That is vhy I prefer to kill them all, but little Grims vas so keen on ye that I could not refused him his puppet."

"I am no one's puppet," retorted Colette with narrowed eyes.

She slowly took aim with the pistol, leveling it to the vampiress's heart. Suddenly, Shelley vanished. Startled, Colette lowered the pistol. Something heavy hit her wrist, knocking the weapon loose of her grip, and the pistol flew across the dirt street. Out of instinct, Colette tightened her grasp on her wand and muttered a shielding charm just as Shelley's fist swung down at her. The vampiress hissed in outrage and leaped backwards into the shadows.

"I am no Grims, Colette," taunted Shelley's voice. "I do not play games. Either submit yourself to me now or ye vill pay the price."

"If you want me," Colette challenged, "come and bite me."

"As ye vish."

At the exact moment that the vampiress chose to strike, the moon slid from behind the black clouds, illuminating the town of Lachlan in ghostly light. Ethan, who had been nearly unconscious, suddenly awoke and gave a loud howl at discovering he was restrained. His arm lashed out, snapping the binding and smashing into the back of Colette's head. She fell to the ground dazed and disoriented, her wand scattering a few feet away.

Shelley threw herself on top of her, claws grabbing hold of Colette's thick hair and yanking back the young witch's head painfully. Colette pulled the knife from her sash and blindly thrusted it behind her, missing her assailant. Shrieking loudly in triumph, Shelley reached forward with her sharp nails; Colette took in one last breath, expecting the claws to slice her throat.

Without warning, Shelley released her hold on Colette, and the young woman collapsed, gasping for breath. The flashes of light danced not only behind her eyes but in her mind as well. Coughing and wheezing, she forced herself to her knees and gazed around in bewilderment. The scene about her had transformed dramatically. Only a few feet away from her, Shelley was half-crouching, a look of shock upon her pale face as Grimshaw Moonsbane stood over her, Colette's silver knife protruding from the vampiress's chest.

"Ye?" she managed to hiss through the anguish.

"Colette is mine," Grimshaw jeered before the body of his mentor disintegrated into dust.

He allowed the knife to fall from his gloved hand before slowly turning towards Colette. His face was paler and more drawn than it had been earlier that night, his eyes burning a fierce red, and his thin, bloodless lips pulled back to reveal the elongated teeth. He stepped closer to Colette, his black robes swirling about him.

"It has been fun, my love, but now it will end," he told her. He knelt on one knee before her, his eyes hypnotizing her already dazed mind. She was falling into a deep sleep, her head was growing heavy, and the pain was slowly fading away…

"Move, girl!"

The gruff command brought Colette out of mist and back to the cold Lachlan night where Grims was leaning over her, teeth bared. She screamed and pushed against him with her arms as she tried to pull away from the vampire. Peterson had appeared—his magnificent crossbow hung over his back and his quiver empty of bolts. His dark eyes scanned the dirt road, found the pistol, and quickly snatched it from the ground.

As the former professor raised the pistol and took aim at the vampire, the large, bulky form of a werewolf finally broke free from Colette's magicked stretcher and turned on them, yellow eyes large with anger. In an incredible act of strength, he lunged at Colette and Grimshaw.

The vampire spun around just in time to find the massive beast on top of him, claws and teeth ripping at the vampire's body. Somehow, in the beast's savage attack, its sharp teeth tore through her right arm. She screamed from the pain, but the werewolf was preoccupied with the struggling vampire to pay her any interest. Grimshaw gave one last scream that broke off in mid-stream. In the frenzy, Colette received a nasty blow to the side of her face and four razor-sharp claws dug into her, from her left shoulder down to her right hip.

Peterson took hold of the injured girl and despite his crippled foot, hauled her up the steps and into the safety of his house.

He bolted the door and swiftly turned to examine her injuries. "You will live, girl," murmured the old man grimly. "You received a right nasty wound there, but with proper treatment, it should heal. Let me see if'n I have any of Madsby's healing droughts any place. Lie still and don't move."

Colette had no strength or desire to argue with the former professor's command, since even the tiniest movement of her chest from merely breathing caused terrible pain. She was in so much agony that she was too scared to even look down at herself to view her wounds, so she kept her eyes on the ceiling of the hall. She also could not feel her right arm, but was too afraid to look. It seemed like an eternity before she heard Peterson returning, and relief washed over her when he knelt by her head, a vial of some kind in his hand.

"Drink this, girl. It will help the pain."

He lifted the glass vile to her lips and the liquid burned her tongue and throat as she swallowed it. Almost immediately, her vision blurred and the pain lessened. A moment later, she was unconscious in the old man's arms. He set aside the empty vile and removed an old wand from inside his robes.

With a wave of his hand, he shifted the injured witch from the hall floor to the bed in his grandson's room. He preceeded to carefully clean and dress the terrible wounds to prevent any infections. He paused only once when a deep, mournful howl pierced the still night. By the time he finished, he was not surprised—but distressed—to find that the wound on her arm was already healing itself.


	10. Chapter 10: Forgiven

**Chapter 10: Forgiven**

"So are you are determined to leave Lachlan so soon, Miss Moon?" asked Peterson after a contemplative puff on his pipe. He was seated at the wooden table directly across from Colette, having served them both a hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and slightly crispy toast.

"Yes, sir," replied Colette quietly.

She was still sore from the night before, but when she woke that morning, fully rested, she discovered that her injuries had not been as bad as she had thought. Her cheek held faint marks of the vampiress's claws and her chest was still bandaged, but there was no sign of any injury to her right arm. If Peterson had not explained what had happened, she would have thought she just sprained it or something during the confusion, but she knew the truth.

"What about your story?" Colette winced at the gruff words, and Peterson raised an eyebrow. "You could write a book, you know, and a mighty fine tale this would be."

"It is hard to write a book on one's self," commented Colette quietly.

"That is where you are wrong, girl," corrected the old man. As always, his voice was muffled slightly by the fact that he had a pipe protruding from his mouth. "The true stories about ourselves are the easiest to write. So are you goin' to go back home to London?"

"London is not my home, Professor. It never was and never will be," murmured Colette. "I think I will join my mother and her family in France for a while—until I find something else to do."

As she spoke, a third individual entered in to the kitchen. Ethan was extremely pale but otherwise looking fine. All of the injuries he had sustained last night had healed, and a unsettling feeling came over Colette. Ethan gave Peterson and Colette a shameful look as he crossed the room to pour himself a cup of water. Peterson blew a smoke ring into the air, stood, and nodded to Colette.

"Well, I guess I will leave you two alone for a minute or two."

He limped from the kitchen, and Colette dropped her eyes to her hands. There was silence in the room for a long time before Ethan cleared his throat.

"I am…pleased…that you are well," he said slowly. "I feared…the worst…last night."

"I faced death many times last night," stated Colette softly. Ethan looked away, his mane-like dark hair hanging about his pallid face. Something inside her was pained at his guilt, and she quietly added, "And twice you saved me."

"I also almost killed you," he whispered. His dark eyes turned to her, large with concern. "Colette, I wish to apologize. I…I…"

Colette wet her lips and took a deep breath. "There is nothing to apologize for, Ethan. What is done is done, and nothing you or I can say will ever change that. We can only move on from this moment."

"I am sorry," Ethan said warmly. "I would never—_never_—want anyone to have to experience…"

Colette rose and crossed to him, her heavy skirts rustling about her. She tenderly brushed back his dark hair with one of her hands and peered up into his grief-stricken face. Not for the first time her heart ached for the young man before her, a young man whose mystery she had finally discovered. She wrapped her arms about his thick chest and pressed her check against him in a loving embrace. Hesitantly, his arms found their way about her slender form.

"I forgive you, Ethan," she whispered.

A few minutes later, the old man politely coughed to announce his presence, and the two reluctantly released each other. He was holding Colette's traveling bag in one hand and a small leather pouch in the other.

"Here, girl," he said as he offered the items to Colette. She submissively took them, knowing without words the necessity for the potion. "Travel only in daylight and find yourself a nice, secluded place to hold up at night. Don't travel durin' the full moon. There is three months' supply of Wolfsbane Potion in that vial for you, as well. Madsby was mighty generous once I told her it was for you, already had it prepared 'fore I even arrived."

"Thank you for your kindness, Professor," said Colette with deep gratitude. She turned back to Ethan. "I will be gone probably for two months, but if you want to…"

Her voice faded, but the meaning of her suggestion was clear enough as she stared up at the tall man beside her. He reached down, took her small hand in his own, and held it to his heart. His dark eyes were still strange and mysterious as he gazed down at her, but now it no longer bothered her.

"France is one of my favorite places," replied Ethan with a hint of a smile. "And I am overdue for a visit there."

THE END


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